Ashes
by Felicity G. Silvers
Summary: AU. Loki is tired of being second best in his foster family. When a masque invitation with King Anthony arrives, he swears he will do whatever is necessary to go; it's the only chance he sees to become better, greater, more. Cinderella re-telling.
1. Chapter 1

Welcome back! Who likes Cinderella stories? Oh, that's right, I do! This idea got lodged in my head and wouldn't get out, so I hope you all enjoy the results. :)

Definitely slash, though nothing graphic here.

Warnings: None

A/N: hir and zie are correct. They are gender neutral pronouns, and fully intended.

**Chapter 1**  
It was a beautiful day: big fat fluffy clouds wafting their way through the air like giant whales, sun gleaming everywhere, birds singing their little hearts out as they tried to impress a mate and charm each other. The ground was still wet with the rain that had fallen the previous night, soft and springy beneath the feet and making the plants look even more verdant than usual.

Loki despised it.

He slouched his way towards the orchard so that he could double check his work from the night before, still trying to shrug the sleep off. He could hear Thor in the distance, his booming laughter carrying across the grounds. His teeth ground together, feeling his headache intensifying, pressing against the back of his eyes.

At the edge of the orchard, he knelt down, pressing his palms flat against the wet grass. He took a breath to clear his mind, focusing, and then opened his eyes. They gleamed a deep green as he looked over his work—carefully twisted and woven ley lines, each pulsing softly, each manipulated so that the harvest from the trees would be the best that it could. Despite his headache (worse, now, getting worse with every second he watched the magic and could hear it singing, loud and pulsing and impossible to drown out), he smiled at a job well done.

He closed his eyes again and just sat there, leaned against one of the trees, ignoring the damp spreading through his rough spun shirt. The slowly spreading warmth of the morning sun dappled through the branches; it was warm, almost cozy here. The ever-present song of magic dulled his lack of focus and lulled him to sleep. He drowsed, relaxed, and the headache began to ease.

"Loki!"

His eyes snapped open and he cursed. The sun had hardly moved, but he scrabbled up. His steps were quick and he rapidly approached the stable from where the call had come. Even from a distance, he could see the bear-like silhouette of his foster father, could imagine the scowl that shaped the remaining eye.

"Loki, where in the nine kingdoms have you been? I told you to have the horses ready to ride an hour ago." Odin glared at him. Loki stared sullenly at the ground, what respite he'd had from his headache gone.

"I was _sleeping_, because I was up all night ensuring your precious trees will bear their fruit. Or do you not remember telling me to do that?"

Odin stopped what he was doing and Loki forced himself to meet his glare with one of his own. Odin was bigger than him, stronger, and he knew it. Even mostly done growing, Odin could still beat him soundly. He ignored the fear buzzing in the back of his mind.

"Well it's good that I woke you up then, isn't it? See to the horses." Odin turned to walk away, to leave Loki to take care of these animals that bite and butt and that he hated.

"No," Loki said, raising his chin.

Odin stopped, turned to look at him.

"What did you say?"

"No," and Loki tried desperately to ignore how his voice almost squeaked. "I won't. I hate them."

Odin started to return. Loki stood his ground.

"You always do that, try to make me do things I hate. And I won't do this. I won't take care of these _stupid_ four-legged _pets_ that you treat better than me. If you want them taken care of, have your _precious _Thor do it. I won't." Loki licked his lips, breathless at his own courage.

Odin was in his face, loomed over him, single blue-gray eye flashing.

"Ready the horses." Odin's voice rumbled like thunder, just barely above a growl.

"No," Loki whispered back, unable to help but take a single step back.

XXXXXX

Thor took care of the horses, but only after he made sure Loki didn't need anything. The kindness nearly killed him, but Loki took it because he ached deep into his bones, back burning from where the lashes struck. He hated Thor, vocally, because they were not brothers despite what Thor says, and loved him, silently, because Thor thought Odin was being unfair.

XXXXXX

"I don't think you should be moving so much yet, Brother."

"I don't care."

Loki slipped away from the estate into the forest and ignored Thor's baleful blue eyes.

XXXXXX

The forest was quiet and the trees thick enough light was only just getting through to the floor. It was Loki's favourite place; Odin and Thor rarely needed him so desperately that they would follow him in here, and the forest's low hum was one that reminded him of his mother. Especially the lake, which was the closest he had been to his native kingdom of Jotun since he was a boy.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted someone sitting where he usually would on the lake shore, feet in the water. He growled; one more thing to go wrong today. No one ever came here. No one should ever come here. He approached, haughty and angry; he remembered the feel of Odin's cane on his back and let it bubble into his voice.

"This is _my _lake," he half-snarled.

The figure turned, looked at him in genuine surprise. Eyes that were black all the way through regarded him, skin cast with a light dusting of green. Tall, Loki suddenly realized, tall and too thin in a way that suggested an alien anatomy. _A fairy_. Here.

"I wasn't aware that it was owned. My deepest apologies." The fairy stood like a snake striking. Loki kept his scowl. "Perhaps I could do something to make up for this intrusion?"

"No," Loki snapped, because even if he was willing to antagonize a fairy he knew better than to take anything offered. He purposefully turned his back on the hir while he took off his boots so he could go wading in the lake. "Your kind have nothing worth taking."

"Is that so?" Hir voice was a purr, soft and sliding into the shadows of his mind. He wanted to listen to that voice, because there was comfort in it, a suggestion of something better. Loki _wanted _something better. Grander.

Loki ignored hir and started to roll his pants legs up. The forest went back to its usual early summer hum and he couldn't hear the fairy behind him. Wading into the water, he nearly jumped out of his skin when zie spoke again.

"What ails you so, little raven?"

He twisted around to face hir, scowl firmly affixed to keep hir from knowing how hard his heart was pounding. He just glared, pouring all of his anger and unhappiness with the past day into it. Zie crouched by the edge of the water, face solemn and black eyes like water at midnight. Loki met them until he thought he might fall in.

Loki blinked first.

A hand—cool, fingers just slightly too long and slender—brushed against his face, fingertips ghosting over his cheekbones. Loki jerked back, lake mud sliding beneath his feet, and fell; the water was cold, far colder than he had thought at first, knocking the breath out of him and water rushed to fill his mouth. It shouldn't be this deep at this part of the lake—the water had barely been at his knees before. He flailed, heart stuttering out a hummingbird drumbeat, and a hand—fingers just slightly too long, just slightly too slender—wrapped around one of his wrists and pulled him… _somewhere_. He didn't know which way was up, which way he was going, the hand on his wrist _burned._

He surfaced. He was sitting, the water up to his chest. There was no hand on his wrist, just one extended before him, fingers too slender and too long, and midnight pool eyes watching him. Loki trembled, burning with shame at having fallen, having no idea what it had looked like to the fairy, and he growled, shoved the hand away, forced himself to his feet. But he couldn't stop gasping, dragging each breath in like it might be his last, because the water had been so cold, dark, and though everything seemed normal now, his left wrist still burned and ached at remembered touch.

"I can make you great," zie said.

Loki looked up, frowned. He rubbed his wrist.

"What?"

"I can make you great, little raven."

"Stop calling me that. I nearly…" he stopped, realizing how foolish it sounded. He nearly drowned in water that barely comes to his knees.

The fairy regarded him patiently.

"You… you did something." Loki reached out, called to his magic, usually kept dull (because listening to the world at full swell was too painful) and looked. _Listened_. The forest was throbbing with energy, fairy magic, but the fairy before him did not change in appearance at all. Dissonance began to eat at him, made his bones creak; it wasn't very much, but… He looked inward, at his left wrist, the wrist of his main hand, and had to bite his tongue to not cry out in surprise.

"Clever," the fairy said. Loki glanced up, growled, and shook off the brand with a whispered half-song. The dissonance faded.

"You are… get away. I don't want whatever your offering. Leave me be." So he found the fairy's working; he doubted that he could do so again, reliably, and instead of angry he was just frightened. But he wouldn't admit it.

"I can make you great. Grand. _More_. You desire to be better than them, your family, do you not? You desire to be more. Look at you, catching fairy magic you've likely never seen before." The words are so matter-of-fact. Loki started to move towards the edge of the lake. "You _deserve _better."

Loki paused. He shouldn't. The fairy had just nearly drowned him, would have made it so his spells went awry had he not caught hir brand.

He wanted _more_.

He _deserved _more.

"Don't you want it?"

Loki closed his eyes and centered himself. He pushed down the fear and the want and the anger before he turned to look at the fairy.

"Maybe," he said because it was honest. "But not by your abilities and tricks. I can raise myself up."

"Can you?"

Loki hesitated; too-thin lips curved up just slightly at the edges.

"Give it some thought," the fairy suggested, the most reasonable suggestion in the world, and was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Welcome back. Shorter chapter, apologies, but this story is pretty quick paced for once.

Warnings: none

Zie and hir are gender neutral pronouns and not typos.**  
**

**Chapter 2**  
Loki avoided the forest and its lake for the next week. No one asked why he wasn't sneaking off, why he was being almost _helpful _with the tasks Odin gave him, but he didn't expect them to either. He'd think about going, sometimes, but then a chill would run down his spine and he remembered the feel of the brand on his wrist. Several times he would just stop, allow his magic to take his senses, and just watch the energy and rhythm flow through his left hand, verifying that it was fine, that all was well.

He remembered the slight tilt up of too thin lips.

_Give it some thought._

Hearing a commotion in the foyer, he crept to the edge of the hallway and as close to where the stairs descended as he could without being seen.

Thor was greeting what looked like… yes, with the red and gold, what was surely a royal messenger. Loki leaned a little over the banister and when he didn't see Odin anywhere, he raced down the stairs to join Thor. The messenger was handing Thor an envelope stamped with the royal seal, and Loki tried to hide his interest.

"Thank you," Thor said, ever the polite one. Loki didn't say anything.

The messenger bowed and departed. Loki sneaked a quick peek out the door to see the messenger before he turned to look at Thor. Thor was headed towards Odin's study, hadn't even _bothered _to look at the message. Loki scowled after his foster brother and quickly caught up with him. Laughing, he snagged it out of Thor's hand and danced away up the stairs.

"Brother!" Thor shouted, and chased after him. "It is not our message! We aren't masters of the house!"

"Aren't we though?" Loki chuckled, easily staying just out of Thor's reach. Thor was taller and bigger than him—took after his father in every way—but Loki was faster on his feet. Thor charged ahead to tackle him; he disappeared in burst of green mist and triumphantly opened the seal as Thor turned around.

"Loki, give me the envelope. It is not our business." Thor held his hand out patiently.

"Have you no sense of curiosity? A royal messenger! With lots of messages! Don't you want to know? It will be hours before Odin—"

"Father."

"—_Odin _gets back, and I can make it look as if we haven't seen."

"But… but we'll _know_."

"Then pretend you don't." Loki turned his attention to the letter in hand. An invitation to all eligible young men and women to attend a royal masque on the night of the new moon. He sucked his breath in, eyes sparkling. _A masque_. With the king. And dancing and all so many clever people and other mages, people would think him _more _than just some bounty of good crops and healthy animals….

Thor growled at him and snatched the letter away; Loki tried grabbing it back but Thor held it over his head, squinting a little as he read over the letter. His lips moved as he read.

"A masque? What is a masque anyway?"

"It is a type of party, Thor." Loki sighed irritably, snagging the letter back, running fingers over the rich paper, savouring it. What he wouldn't give to always have access to such. "Everyone dresses up as different things, mostly animals, that way no one knows who is who, and it's just… _marvelous_." A note of reverence and bliss shown through his voice.

"Hm. Who wants to go to something like that? How are you meant to know if the woman you are dancing with is pretty?"

Loki snorted, handing the newly sealed envelope back.

"Or man," Thor quickly amended in deference to Loki's own tastes.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, brother. But it's wonderful, and we can both go. Now remember—pretend you didn't read it, yes?"

Thor nodded. He had that smile on his face that said he had no idea why Loki was so pleased, but that he was happy that Loki was happy. Loki smiled back, just a little one, and went back to where he had been cleaning in the library.

XXXXXX

"What do you _mean _I can't go?"

"Father, that isn't fair!"

Odin sat and watch both of them passively.

"Father," Thor said, stepping beside Loki, "please. Why can my brother not attend? He, too, is of eligible age and of a noble house, is he not?"

Loki seethed, but he did not add to Thor's question; not with how Odin was watching him, _waiting_.

"Your brother," the word choice is not lost on Loki, and the loathing welled up in the back of his throat, "has not in any way proven that he is ready to attend court."

"I do not understand, Father." Thor stepped closer to Odin, positioned himself so he was almost between the two; his jaw stubbornly set. Loki loved him more than he had ever loved anyone. "Whether he is ready or not, the invitation clearly is for _all_ eligible men and women."

"Eligible' means that he does not constantly disobey or begrudge every task asked of him, or decide that he should skip off to the forest and leave others to pick up his slack. 'Eligible' implies that he will not constantly and consistently use that silver tongue of his to belittle those around him. Your brother would make a disgrace of his house and ours at court, and I will not permit him to go. That is final."

"But Father—" Odin's one good eye narrowed and Thor went quiet.

Loki turned on his heel, every muscle taut and shaking. He would go. He _would_. Odin would not keep him here, stuck tending plants and animals. The king never had masques or balls or parties like this, might not again, not while Loki was still young and of marriageable age. He would not be married off to some old country baron who thought it pleasing to have a mage for a pet.

_Give it some thought _and the knowing tilt of too thin lips flashed in his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello, hello! Thanks to everyone for favourites, comments, and follows. :) You guys are great.

Warnings: none

Zie and hir are gender neutral pronouns, not typos.**  
**

**Chapter 3**  
Loki argued and wheedled and cajoled; Odin did not change his mind.

He thought briefly about begging.

Occasionally, when doing other things, he would hear Thor pleading on his behalf. Odin did not change his mind then either.

_I can raise myself up_.

The words burned when he thought of them, because now he couldn't forget the fairy and the lake and their conversation. Here, this masque, was the perfect opportunity.

He didn't need to convince Odin to let him go. He would go anyway.

_Can you_?

XXXXXX

"Brother, I would have you go in my place if I could. I know how much you desire to go to this masque."

Loki forced himself to smile, to make his face stillness and peace. He was not jealous of how… fantastic Thor looked, feathered mask held in one hand and not yet donned, storm cloud blue and gray attire bringing out the blond of his hair and blue of his eyes.

"You will make a fine thunder bird. Try not to think too much on whether the ladies you dance with are pretty."

Thor frowned at him.

Loki did not say anything to Odin in his browns and fur, waiting by the carriage for Thor to stop saying goodbye. He did not look at Odin as he pushed his brother on and turned to go back towards the house.

"Loki, I expect all of it to be done and sorted."

Loki lifted a hand in a wave, but he did not turn to look back at Odin.

"It will be. Have a good evening, Thor. For me."

XXXXXX

Loki glanced down at the list that he had been given. Alphabetical by author, with books by same author alphabetical by title. There were thousands of books in the library, many of them in languages that did not share the same letters. Odin expected this to take him the rest of the night? Hah.

It took him longer to come up with the spell than to speak it.

The books did not move. Not even a flutter of pages. He frowned, tilting his head to listen a little more closely to how the magic ran about the room, how it needed to be coaxed. Had he forgotten a conjugation somewhere, or a particular note?

"Impressive," a voice glided along the shelves. "But you need magic in a room before you can call it."

Loki spun around, looking, and he struggled to not back pedal as his eyes landed on the fairy—the same fairy, he was sure, but now zie looked different, grander, writhing with energy and song that made Loki suddenly realize how close to drowning he had actually come. He would not show weakness.

"Do you not have better things to do than appear in the libraries of deserted estates?" he snapped.

Zie stopped walking down the row of books and looked at Loki. He wanted to shrink down, down, hide in on himself; those midnight pools eyes dissected him and stripped him bare and made him feel as if he were drowning again. Too thin lips tilted a little into a smile. Loki realized his hands were curled into fists, nails drawing blood.

"I was interested to see if you spoke truly."

"About?"

The fairy smiled.

_I can raise myself up_.

Loki felt his face grow hot.

"I could help you."

"Why?"

Zie shrugged.

"I don't need it," he said, proudly, lying, trying to act casual. The blood on his palms was warm.

"You are welcome to spend the evening sorting these." Zie gestured at the library shelves. "Or… well, I would be most interested to see if you could, in fact, make yourself better without enchantment on my part. And I went to so much trouble to arrange the opportunity… it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

"You… you're why the king is having a masque when he never does these things," Loki breathed, eyes widening. "Because of… what, exactly?"

"Curiosity. Boredom." The fairy waved hir hand about in the air. "The usual suspects. And," zie added, smiling, looking at Loki again and making him feel suddenly small, "I met someone who I believed when he said he did not need my aid. I want to see if it is true."

"Is this a wager?"

"Hardly. But you do seem to need some small assistance… and perhaps something to wear?"

"I can do this without aid," Loki said stubbornly, knowing it a lie.

"Were the room not silenced to your magic, I have no doubt. You are quite the sorcerer. What if we make a little deal? You still will be able to lift yourself up, if you've the talent and charm."

Loki considered it, knowing he shouldn't. He uncurled his fists, examined the half-moon marks from his nails, the way the blood pooled in the creases and lines of his palms.

"A sorcerer of your talent deserves better than book-sorting and animal husbandry."

Loki licked his lips, took a deep, steadying breath.

"What sort of deal?" he asked.

"I take care of this," a wave around the room, "and your attire. I ensure that you can meet with whomever you need after this evening, such that you have chance to better yourself. Think of me as a… what is that delightful word you Aesir use? Ah, yes. Patron. A patron of a great sorcerer, giving him chance to prove himself to the world."

"In return?"

"I shall ask you to perform a minor task for one of your talents; naturally, the usual forfeiture applies should you accept our deal and then refuse to perform your task."

Silence settled. A minor task, a spell that would likely take no time at all, in exchange for the ability to go to the masque. To impress, to startle, to capture the attentions of… someone. To be able to slip away to else, to continue to pursue what intrigues he started this evening. To have chance to escape Odin's rule and escape an eventual marriage to some dried up old Baron. His pulse quickened and breath grew a little more ragged. His heart ached. More. Better. Grander.

He _wanted_.

He looked up at the fairy again, swallowed.

"I am… interested in this deal." Loki stood his ground as the fairy drew closer and he suddenly realized just how tall zie was. He had to tilt his head back to keep their gaze unbroken. The air grew colder as zie got closer, an involuntary shiver running up his spine. Stopping roughly three paces away, the fairy held out one hand, palm side up.

"In exchange for services of getting you to the masque, clothing you, and ensuring that you may follow any relations you establish this evening, do you swear upon loss of soul, self, and essence to perform one minor, according to your abilities, magical task, Loki of Laufey?"

Loki hesitated, stared at the hand that was held out for his own.

"Yes," voice just barely above a whisper. He placed his own hand in the fairy's.

"Do you swear?"

"Asked again, and yes I do swear." His voice grew a little stronger, a little louder.

"A third time I will ask—do you swear?"

"And third again shall I tell you—I swear."

The fairy smiled, a cat catching a wounded bird, and suddenly the space between them was gone, one arm wrapped around Loki's waist, the hand holding his moving up to grip his wrist. Cold lips pressed against his own and then he was under water again, icy water making him gasp, eyes go wide, struggling against a grip that still wrapped around him. But he wasn't drowning, he could breathe—water did not rush to fill his mouth and lungs, just frost burn making his mouth ache as a discordant chord swelled in his ears and made his eyes burn and he thought he might freeze to death and burst alight in the same moment….

He collapsed as the fairy stepped back, shaking, trembling. He did not try to look up, try to rescue wounded pride, just stayed there on his knees, hands pressed to the floor. The room was silent again but for his gasping breath but Loki knew the fairy was still there, still smiling, and he was suddenly terrified. He wished Thor was here. As the freezing and burning and ache began to fade, as he could finally make out his hands pressed against the cold stone library floor, he blinked, realizing his clothes had changed. That silk softer than any he had ever touched was pressed against his face.

He pushed himself off his knees, looking warily at the fairy. Deep midnight pool eyes examined him; zie circled around him, admiring hir handiwork. A hand wave (he did not flinch) and there was a mirror-like thing before him; his mouth dropped open as he saw what he was wearing. A coat made of some rich velvet that looked black, but shimmered and sheened with each breath into a million shades of green and blue, like a raven's wing, hugged snugly to his form; black lace trimmed the cuffs, accenting his wrists, and delicate golden feathers and vines in the finest embroidery were sewn all along the edges. A black silk cravat, pinned with a single brooch of green exactly the same shade as his eyes sparkled, set in gold; his pants black as well, with dyed doe-skin boots to his knee that were supple and fitted and showed off his calf quite well. And on his face, making his eyes seem almost otherworldly, a silken mask trimmed in raven's feathers and shaped to have half a black beak.

"Mm, you look absolutely delicious, if I say so myself," the fairy purred, and Loki shuddered some, feeling the cold burn at his lips once more as the mirrored surface vanished. "Are you ready to fly from the nest, little raven?"

Loki glanced back at where the mirror had hung, then to the fairy.

"Yes."


	4. Chapter 4

Welcome back! Oh my gaawd guys we're finally getting to the frostiron bits. Gleeeeeeee. I love these two.

Thanks to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, faving, following.

Warnings: some slash, nothing graphic

Zie and hir are gender neutral pronouns, not typos.**  
**

**Chapter 4**  
It was crowded and marvelous and everything possible that Loki could ever desire. He could drown in this every evening, flit from conversation to conversation, be swept away in dance by interested parties, for the rest of his life given half a chance. It was easy to forget what he had promised the fairy now, swept into the crush of bodies and laughter and music. Colour bloomed everywhere, nary a sign of black (or something like it) other than him, gems catching magic fueled light and refracting it every which way. He felt drunk on more than just the wine.

He vaguely remembered the invitation saying something about not wearing black. He dismissed the thought, found himself in the company of some court noble, a sorcerer herself, and lost himself in the conversation.

When her eyes flicked over his shoulder and widened ever so slightly, a murmur already coming to her lips, Loki knew who it was even as he turned to face him.

King Anthony of Stark was glaring at him. Loki smirked, raised an eyebrow as the king began to speak.

"This is not a funeral," Anthony snapped, "though perhaps it might be yours. Can you not read?"

"Oh, I can read quite well, Majesty, but I would make a poor raven otherwise, don't you think? Besides, how on earth could I draw attention if dressed in any other colour this evening?" He gestured around the rest of the room and smiled at Anthony. This was so tame and familiar next to the fairy and freezing; it was easy, almost. The king pursed his lips, everyone around them quiet and watching, edging away from what was sure to be an outburst, so Loki pressed on. "And is this not a masque? Where is your costume, Majesty?" He took a step toward the king.

"I am myself." Chocolate and honey eyes continued to watch him.

"Then might I call you Anthony, and you call me Raven?" Loki asked, letting an impish grin touch his lips and around them people whispered, the air suddenly charged.

Anthony laughed, features easing. He held out his hand; when Loki took it to kiss, Anthony quickly kissed Loki's, eyes sparkling. He tugged Loki's hand, drawing him closer, and placed one hand on his back, guiding Loki towards the ball room floor.

"You, I like," the king said.

They danced. The king led, for which Loki was grateful; he wasn't nearly so familiar with dance as he wished but he could certainly follow gracefully. Once it was over, Anthony did not immediately release him, studying his mask and eyes; Loki smirked slightly before disentangling himself. He bowed slightly, murmured his enjoyment of the dance (_Anthony_) and went to leave.

Anthony caught his hand, looking amused.

"I didn't say you could go."

"Who am I to listen to you, Anthony? I wasn't aware you were skilled in the capturing of ravens." Loki slipped his grip, letting his smirk grow.

"A fast learner and a king."

"Kings can make birds stay by asking now? I am impressed. Where does one learn such skills?"

"It's in the blood. And it's clearly working—you haven't taken flight yet. Find something you like?" Anthony smirked back at him, snagging two glasses of wine and offering one to Loki. Loki took it, letting his finger tips brush against the king's, and an arm was around his waist again, Anthony guiding him… somewhere. He didn't mind, just sipped at his wine and smiled.

"The company is not unpleasant," Loki allowed.

Anthony chuckled, the hand on Loki's waist squeezing gently.

They left the hustle of the ballroom and court, stepping out into the gardens with the cool night air, moonless and cloudless. Will o' wisp lights glimmered by the garden pathways, and there were a few couples out here already. They avoided them, followed the winding path until they reached one of the myriad fountains.

"So, Raven, are you always so bold with kings?"

"I'm hardly being bold. After all, you said you are Anthony tonight." Loki looked at Anthony through lowered lashes, a demure smile on his lips. Again, he slipped from the king's grasp, and began to circle around the fountain, enjoying the sound of the water, letting his eyes roam over the trees and flowers around them.

"And do you always so boldly disregard what invitations say about dress?"

"Should I not? It garnered me attention, and considering that no one knew who I was before I arrived, I hardly think that a poor thing for a young man of my standing and age." Loki circled the rest of the way, returning to where Anthony had sat on the edge of the fountain. He looked down at Anthony, taking him in now that they were alone.

Anthony was older. He carried it well, perhaps forty or so summers, and steel was just beginning to streak through hair the colour of wet bark. What facial hair he had was trimmed close to the face; his face was weathered, springing from a stern and unreadable stare to a wide smile in a heartbeat. Loki had not really dealt with enough men outside of the estate to know if the king was his type, or even if he had a type, but he certainly could appreciate Anthony's looks.

"There you go, looking again." Anthony stretched, the plain crimson shirt he wore going taunt over muscle and Loki's pulse suddenly picked up again and mouth went a little dry. He met Loki's eyes, cocky smile touching his face when Loki did not immediately look away and excuse himself. He stood suddenly, barely inches from Loki in a step. Loki blinked, suddenly realizing he was staring and looking down, but he didn't step away. A rough hand gripped his chin, tilted his head back up, making him meet Anthony's gaze again. He glared a little, but didn't look away from that golden gaze.

"You are very bold," Anthony said.

"Oh?" Loki returned, not sure of what else to say. He hadn't been aware until this moment so many shades of gold and brown existed. He was aware, distantly, of Anthony's other hand sliding up his arm, calloused fingers brushing along his throat and the line of his jaw to his ear; a shudder ran up his back as one finger lightly traced the outside of his ear. Unthinkingly, he let his hands rest at Anthony's waist, some illusion of being able to push the broader man away.

"And your tongue is very clever." The hand at his ear slid farther back, slipped under the ribbon of his mask, ran along his scalp, loosening it; Loki could feel the mask slipping a little as Anthony tugged.

"So I've been told." He managed to keep his voice steady.

"When addressing your king, no less."

"You are no one's king tonight, Anthony," he said automatically, unable to help himself; he had certainly not been so bold so far. Something gathered in Anthony's eyes and Loki's pulse jumped, terrified, but he didn't look away. He let his hands slide over Anthony's stomach and up towards his chest, feeling muscles tense under the thin shirt.

The mask slipped and fell to the ground.

"I am your king." An almost angry growl and Loki thought he might melt to his knees as the hand that had worked the ribbon free slid to his neck. His eyes slid shut partway, still focused on Anthony's.

"Tony," he whispered back, defiant.

Anthony's hand gripped his hair, hand at his chin moving, crushing Loki to him and kissing Loki, claiming him, trying to force him to submit to his king. Loki gripped Anthony's shirt tightly, lost in a swirl of heat, and pushed back—_more_, his mind screamed, and he gave a growl of his own, nipping Anthony's lip, a hand sliding up and around Anthony's neck, fingers digging into dark hair and tugging. Hands pushed at his coat, grabbed and tugged it open, stole in and pulled his shirt up, sliding up against his skin and he groaned, relented to Anthony's tongue stealing into his mouth, to hands trying to pull him closer, to the yank on his hair tugging his head back and teeth scraping against his lip and the wet warmth of blood.

A bell rang.

Kisses trailed down his throat, teeth nipping; nails dug into his back, slid along the edge of his pants. He tore at Anthony's shirt, wanting it off, wanting it out of the way, slid one hand beneath and reveled in the hot tanned flesh.

A bell rang.

He stopped touching just long enough to let Anthony push his coat off before he tried to push back again, to take control; expert fingers slid between pants and flesh and hot breath tickled his ear before teeth nipped and he submitted again, let his king take him, ravish him, quivering and knees weak.

A bell rang.

_Midnight_ a voice he didn't know whispered in his mind, teetering on the edge of giving in entirely. _Midnight _his mind echoed, and he gasped and pushed Anthony back with what strength he had left.

A bell rang.

"Midnight," he breathed, lips bruised and red, hair disheveled, Anthony looking at him in confusion and Loki recognized the fire in the other's eyes.

A bell rang.

_More_, and Loki nearly buckled again, knowing that fire in Anthony's eyes.

A bell rang.

Loki vanished in a swirl of green mist, crashing to his knees in the library at the estate, hands pressed to the ground and he laughed, laughed until he wept, body shaking with pent up desire and want. _More_, his body cried, echoed the fire in Anthony's eyes. He looked up, tears staining his face, the fairy there before him and he finally stopped laughing, just knelt there gasping before the fairy. A too thin and too slender hand stroked his face while too thin lips smiled and midnight pool eyes glimmered in triumph.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow, thank you everyone. There was an explosion of reviews and follows on that last chapter, and I'm so glad everyone liked it! And to Luna and guest, who I can't PM a response to, thank you! This is a bit of a short one, sorry guys. But next chapter should be utterly delicious. Ehehehe  
**

**Warnings: none  
**

**Zie and hir are gender neutral pronouns, not typos. :)  
**

**Chapter 5**  
He was in the library when Odin found him later that night—or was it morning now? The sun hadn't yet risen, but it was getting close. His head still swirled with desire, lip aching where Anthony had nicked it as they kissed; he did not even look up from where he sat in the floor, staring off into the middle distance. His clothes were normal again and felt rough against his skin, sandpaper after the silk that he'd worn before. His hands were running blindly over a book that the fairy had pressed into them before vanishing.

Odin said something. It sounded angry. Loki tugged at his mind, tried to draw away from remembering every detail of Anthony's fingers on his skin. He at least managed to direct his gaze at Odin, who was looking rather thunderous. Odin said something else.

Loki hummed agreement to whatever he'd been asked and let his mind wander again.

Odin grabbed his chin, glaring at him; Anthony had grabbed his chin. He remembered the flecks of honey and gold in those brown eyes and sighed.

Odin stopped talking. Loki stopped trying to process what he was saying while Odin looked around the room. He wondered how quickly he would be able to slip away to see the king again, whether or not he would be able to resist giving into Anthony when they met next. The chase, the fairy had explained, was the important thing, and Loki knew it was true but it was so hard when all he wanted was _more_. More of that touch and those lips and that laugh and—

Odin cuffed him upside the head.

"Ow!" he said, rubbing his head, suddenly draw out of his daze. He glared at his foster father.

"You undid the wards keeping the magic out! You were meant to do this by hand!"

Loki frowned, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. He hadn't done _anything_, he'd just been sitting here minding his own business when Odin came tromping in here like a bull.

"You were at the masque, weren't you?"

"I was not," Loki said, snapping. "I was here, undoing your stupid ward so that your impossible task would be complete. You didn't say I couldn't use magic, never specified anything of the sort." He stood up, tossed the book at Odin's feet. "So leave me alone. I'm done here."

He stormed out, brushing past Thor who was considering him… thoughtfully, which was somewhat frightening to think about. Getting to his room, he shut the door, locked it, and stripped to go to bed. Sleep for a few hours yet. He remembered the sound of Anthony's chuckle and licked his lips.

Perhaps in a few minutes.

XXXXXX

"Brother?"

Loki groaned.

"Brother, can I come in?"

He rolled around underneath the blanket for a moment, clutched a pillow over his head. It was so warm and cozy here, everything just perfectly so; he didn't even bother trying to open his eyes.

"Please?"

Thor wasn't going away. He muttered a spell, unlocking the door, and kept himself curled under the blankets, pillow pressed over his head. He could hear Thor coming in, never very quiet at the best of times, and the click as Thor shut the door behind himself . The louder click of the lock sliding back into place.

He pulled the pillow aside so he could open his eyes part way to stare at Thor.

Thor never locked the door behind himself.

Thor had walked over to window, pulling the curtain back just a twitch so he could peer outside. He saw Loki staring at him and gave him a reassuring smile, letting the curtain fall closed again. Loki narrowed his eyes a little which only got a bigger smile out of Thor.

"So?" Thor asked.

"So what?"

"How was it? Dancing with the king?"

Loki blinked a couple of times, speechless.

"I know you went, I recognize that smile of yours anywhere. And you _would _be au… auda… brazen enough to wear black when the invitation said not to!"

"I… what?" Loki finally asked.

"You did go, didn't you? Father is convinced you didn't, or at least willing to believe whatever you said last night, but I saw how confused you were about the books being sorted, and the ward. And I know you were the raven the king was so taken with." Thor crossed his arms, the smile fading as he grew more serious. "Please don't lie, Brother."

Loki sighed and ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling.

"It was entertaining," he admitted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the smile blossom briefly on Thor's face before it vanished.

"That is good. But how did the books get sorted? You clearly weren't there to do it."

"I…" Loki waved a hand vaguely. "Magic."

Thor waited.

"It was!" He threw the pillow at Thor. Thor caught it and hugged it to himself, continuing to wait. "You can't prove that it wasn't."

"But it wasn't _your _magic. Father had warded against it. So whose?"

"A friend."

Thor's eye brows shot up. Loki tried to ignore it.

"You are usually a better liar, Brother."

"And _you _usually aren't so curious. Give me my pillow back." When Thor hesitated he growled a bit. "Give me my pillow or so help me I'll make you swap places with a snail again."

The pillow landed with a thud on his face. He snorted, rolled over so his back was to Thor.

"You aren't going to tell me."

"No."

The silence stretched and started to grow heavier.

"Be careful, Loki." Thor's hand brushed against his hair briefly and he started, twisting over; Thor was already out of the door, shutting it with a resounding thud.

XXXXXX

"The king usually goes hunting on the sixth day, in the forest."

Loki nearly dropped the water bucket he was carrying to the horses. Ice flooded his veins as he saw the fairy, smiling benignly; his lips burned a little in remembrance and he swore aloud.

"Sixth day… that's tomorrow."

"Indeed. Perhaps you should think of slipping away. Perhaps an errand in the city?"

"I can make my own excuses," Loki snapped. He thought his heart stuttered a little, struggling against the fact his blood was ice, all ice and dark water.

"Of course, little raven. See you on the morrow." A bow and gone.

Loki set the water bucket down for a few moments and hugged himself, trying to be deaf to the discordant chord that screeched along his senses.


	6. Chapter 6

Oh my goodness! Thank you everyone who has begun following lately! That was a surprise. :) Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter.

For Rachel: Thank you and thank you! So glad that you're enjoying. The gender neutral pronouns are something I picked up from several gender studies classes and lots of dealing with people whose gender identities are more fluid/less binary. I think the Faun from Pan's Labyrinth is the closest anyone's gotten to how I picture hir; I'll have to look into uploading a picture of my inspiration for hir.

For LunaMidnight: Thank you! I hope you enjoy reading more. :)

Warnings: none

zie and hir are gender neutral pronouns, not typos :)**  
**

**Chapter 6**  
He ended up telling Odin that he needed to place some orders in town. He hadn't really given much thought to excuses and it was an admittedly good one. He ignored the way Thor looked at him when he left. With the way the rain was bucketing down, he doubted the king would go hunting today; he knew that he would prefer to stay inside. If Loki were perfectly honest, he wouldn't go hunting in the first place.

That was neither here nor there. The fairy had reassured him shortly after he arrived in the forest that the king would, in fact, come along to hunt, rain or no rain.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

He wandered. He didn't have a particular destination but he found himself on the shore of his lake, where he had met the fairy for the first time. He crouched down at the edge, looking for the depths he'd fallen in; they weren't there.

"You do exist."

Loki twisted around, wondering how he'd missed the sound of the rather large horse Anthony was riding, the jangle of bit and creak of leather when Anthony swung himself off. Anthony looped the reins around a nearby branch and then started towards Loki.

"I was beginning to think I'd imagined you, other than everyone remembered the raven come to court." The king continued forward, footsteps soft and cautious; Loki's eyes narrowed, feeling like a wild horse the king was trying not to startle. He stood sharply, meeting Anthony's eyes; Anthony stopped a few yards away.

Loki's pulse quickened a little.

"Are you a king today, come to order me about?" It came out a little sharper and colder than he intended. Anthony's hands clenched into fists then relaxed, but he did not come any closer, still just watched Loki. Loki stalked towards him and circled just out of arm's reach. His lip stung in remembrance, skin warmed at the thought of those clenched hands exploring, but he reined it in viciously. He _wanted_, but Anthony did too, and want is where he would win. He mustn't give in to his traitorous body and his memory of a hand in his hair jerking his head back. "Come to ravish me and take me and leave me spoiled, some pretty little noble's son that you can forget like all the rest, _Majesty_?"

"You're wrong," Anthony said, meeting Loki's gaze once he'd been circled.

"Am I?" A purr.

Silence, gold eyes studying him, taking him in, trying to pull him apart and see what made him tick. Loki swallowed, felt the tiniest bit of heat spread over his cheeks, but he didn't look away from that gaze.

"I'm not some animal you can hunt and take back to your home and mount; I am not some conquest you can toss in your bed and then shoo out the door. I deserve _more _than that," Loki hissed. He turned to leave.

Anthony's hand snagged his wrist, stopping him and making him half-stumble. He glared at the king.

"You want this, though. You want to settle for being a temporary conquest."

Loki grit his teeth to keep from saying yes and looked away. Anthony used his thumb to trace a circle on Loki's wrist, eyes thoughtful.

"Why not give in?"

"I deserve _better_. I am worth _more_." Loki couldn't stop how his voice shook, but he did not look at Anthony.

A finger touched his chin, tugged up.

"That sounds familiar."

Loki couldn't breathe.

"What do I need to do to prove you aren't just some conquest? I mean, I will admit that at first that's all you were, but you are bold. Very bold. Few turn down a king, few slip my grasp, and I will admit to perhaps being chased by thoughts of you through the week since."

Loki's blood pounded in his ears, made it hard to think clearly. Near triumph, that he had done this to a king, made a king desire him. _More_, he nearly was more; already a step ahead in that the king would even ask to prove something instead of just saying it and word being law. He hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed Anthony, just the briefest brush of his lips; Anthony started forward, went to grab him again.

"Find me," he whispered, eyes sparkling as he met confused brown eyes, and vanished once more.

XXXXXX

A week went by. Then a second. The new moon was days away, and Loki tried not to sulk that the fairy had not appeared, that Anthony had not appeared, that things were not moving more quickly. Going to find Anthony would defeat the purpose—the king was meant to find _him_. He was too close to _more _to ruin it with impatience. If he was needed, the fairy would arrive with a well-timed comment about an event.

But oh how he _wanted_.

XXXXXX

Sound surrounded him, embraced him, made him want to melt into it and fade away. His skin tingled with it, caress of energy and water moving around and past him; he reached out and he nudged and it moved and swirled and rippled, the swell of watery sound moving and blending and melding with the deep bass of the earth, the soft trembling strings of trees. He breathed in, felt energy swirl into his lungs, tickle, scent of damp earth and fresh blooms and water filling him to the brim.

"Brother!"

He hissed, head exploding in pain, eyes opening too quickly and being blinded by the sight of sound. He closed his eyes and sank down to his knees in the stream he was standing in. The music was merely an echo in his bones, making his head hurt more for hearing it when he tried to grasp and make sure the spell had not been unraveled by the interruption. He let go, closed himself, returned to stillness and silence except for—

"Brother! Are you alright?"

—except for Thor, crashing so _loudly _through the field to the stream where Loki was, shouting as if the world was ending. Loki hated him with the part of his mind that wasn't screaming and deaf. Rough, clumsy hands touched his shoulder tentatively; Loki flinched, still throbbing and too sensitive as Thor helped him stand.

He swayed and opened his eyes once more, slowly, carefully, feeling a little sense of control come back. His stomach twisted at the sudden influx of colours; Thor held his hair back as he bent over and heaved what breakfast he'd taken back up.

"I'm sorry, Brother, I did not know you were working a spell," Thor said, his voice thick with apology and shame. Loki ignored it, tried to make sure his stomach was stable before he straightened again. He held a hand out and a flask was pressed into it; he rinsed his mouth out and spit, then handed it back to Thor. He tried not squint at his foster brother, who looked almost glowing in the sunlight with his blond hair. Too bright.

"No, I just make habit of standing in streams murmuring words and looking peaceful. You probably thought I was _sleeping_." His voice was still rough from the burn of stomach acid. Thor looked appropriately chastised so he let a little of his venom go. "What is so important you need me?"

"Father wants you at the house."

Loki's eyebrows shot up. Odin was the one who had sent him to work the irrigation spell. He searched his memory, trying to think of any time he'd been interrupted by a summons before. Thor, he realized, was grinning now that he was mostly forgiven.

"Why?"

"Loki, it's the _king_."

"If you're going to _lie _at least make it interesting." Loki huffed and stomped towards the house.

"But I'm not!"

"He doesn't even know who I _am_, Thor; don't you think he would have shown up weeks ago otherwise?" Despite his headache, he felt a little flame of hope suddenly burn in his chest, sharp and needy and devouring what sense he had. He hurried a little and stumbled, dizzy. Thor caught his arm; he yanked it away and glared, even though the world was spinning.

He hated being interrupted, hated how helpless it made him. He would _not _collapse before he made it back to the house.

He made it back, blurry figures talking, one dressed in a bright red coat with gold trim, the right height, the right build, the right wet tree bark hair. Anthony _would _chose today to show up, Loki dizzy from a spell gone wrong, sick and shaking and feeling fatigue about to sweep him away, barefoot and shirtless and pants soaked from kneeling in the stream, probably looking like death if the cold sweat on his skin was anything to go by. It was embarrassing enough (and his vision blurry enough) that he didn't feel the familiar pulse quicken that usually followed thoughts of the king.

They all waited, and he realized they were waiting on him. Ah, right, he was expected to bow before the king. He tried not to sway as he tilted his head and met Anthony's gaze, let a little smirk play across his features. He caught sight of the large blurry figure, Odin, beginning to move towards him, but he ignored his foster father, just smirked at Anthony before he gathered together his strength and wits and forced his voice steady.

"So you found me. Now what?" It was not much above a whisper, but Loki was pleased his voice did not quaver.

Odin stopped. Loki could feel the surprise and sudden spike in rage from where he stood, but he continued to watch the blurry form of Anthony. The king moved towards him, sudden as that first night; Loki didn't step back this time either, but more because he was having enough trouble standing in one spot. He wondered if he had less perception than he thought when Anthony suddenly got shorter before hands took his and he realized Anthony was looking up at him, was _kneeling _in front of him. A murmur rippled around them.

"Marry me."

Loki blinked and licked his lips.

"Who's asking?"

Honey brown eyes narrowed and silence stretched between them.

"Anthony," the king finally said.

"Oh." Loki blinked again. The tension eased out of his shoulders, headache swelling up again. He swayed a little.

"That would be nice."

Fatigue broke over him and everything became a rush of white before thick blackness cradled him.


	7. Chapter 7

Hello again! I bet you thought this was going to turn into a happy story after all, and that I would totally forget that I had put in the tragedy genre. Except I didn't. I am 100% not sorry.

Rachel: Nothing so predictable as far as tasks go, as you'll see, and perfectly in keeping with their earlier bargain. I am very glad that you liked last chapter!

Zie and hir are not typos, simply gender neutral pronouns.

Warnings: some slash, but nothing graphic**  
**

**Chapter 7**  
It went by in a whirl. The moon waned away to nothing and suddenly here he was, surrounded in furs and silks, scent of lilies surrounding him everywhere ("Your favourite bloom?" "Knowing that won't make me change my mind" "What if they are the finest of their kind?" "Not even then. We wed in a month, surely you can wait another month?" "I suppose. Still, tell me" and a kiss pressed to the inside of his wrist, by his pulse, and sparkling brown eyes). Sometimes he told Thor that he wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming, and with his usual grace Thor would clap his back and when Loki swore at him about _not _breaking him in half Thor would laugh and say that it couldn't be a dream if it hurt. Loki wasn't sure he believed his foster brother, but he had no other reasoning to turn to.

He saw Anthony, daily, between the tailors and the servants and the chefs finding out what flavours he liked best ( "What do you _mean_ you've never had anise, here, try this, you'll love it." ), between being shown the castle and exploring the gardens and trying to figure out how best he would fit into this life. At dinner, too, sometimes, but he didn't realize how busy a king must be ( "Sorry I'm late, you know how it is, how was dinner—" quick kiss pressed to the inside of his wrist, by his pulse, another on his cheek, "—I swear I'll join you for breakfast, just have someone come prod me with a stick if you need to."), but he doesn't envy it. Anthony already had the mages in the castle working with him, figuring out his strengths, prodding him, so in between everything else, all the wedding preparation and the wardrobes and the food, he was learning, constantly learning ( "Hey, you look like me, ink smudged on your nose," quickly licked finger rubbing it off his nose and making him cross-eyed before his vision uncrosses and there's that confident smirk, "Just wanted to see you" and Loki ended up having to push him away before he let Anthony just take him on the table and there's ink all along the back of his new shirt now) and being treated as _equal_, and what more could he really ask for between everything else?

It was a beautiful promise.

He saw the fairy when he went to see Anthony, to ask which shade of green would would work best. Cool midnight pool eyes observed him as he came in, zie standing by the table where a map was spread out. Ice ran down his spine and his lips were frost touched again; he froze. Anthony looked up as the fairy coughed politely, glanced at hir and then at Loki (eyes warming noticeably from irritation to… something else when they saw Loki standing there).

"Fairy," Loki said, quick wit abandoning him.

"Ah, yes, nothing to worry about. I suppose you two haven't met yet?" Anthony moved away from the table, pulling Loki into a quick embrace; a hand slid around his wrist and pulled it up, Anthony placing a quick kiss on the inside, right by his pulse. "Not really any need to, but in any case, Glanconer, this is Loki of Laufey, my fiance. Loki, Glanconer of Fae, ambassador-prisoner type I suppose you could say. Friends close and enemies closer sort of deal." Glanconer—fairy, polite smile on too thin lips—bowed politely to Loki, murmuring something about 'a pleasure' and Loki stepped a little closer to Anthony, heart turned to ice and feeling like it was ripping itself to shreds to pump blood through.

"Loki?" Anthony's voice quiet, worried, and Loki blinked, stopped staring at hir and looked at Anthony, smiled briefly. Anthony pulled him close again, arm around his waist, and they walked away from the table and the fairy—Glanconer—but Loki could still feel cold midnight pool eyes on his back, making his shoulders itch. "You know hir already," and it wasn't a question.

"In passing," Loki admitted, because he knew that recognition had been written all over his face. "Zie frightens me. Fairies do." He kept his voice a whisper, just barely loud enough for Anthony to hear and hoped it was too quiet for hir.

"Good." The arm around his waist tightened, almost protective, and Loki leaned against Anthony and felt a rush of gratefulness nearly sweep him off his feet. "What actually brought you here, songbird?"

"Oh. Right." Loki searched his memory, pulled out the two swatches of fabric the tailor had given him that morning ("You're the only one that can seem to get the king's attention, he's barred the rest of us out and told us just to pick, can you _imagine_, just _picking _something and what if he doesn't like it"), and presented them to Anthony. "Which do you prefer?"

Anthony huffed a laugh and a sigh in the same breath, taking them from Loki. He held one up, then the other, handing back the darker one, the deep forest green one Loki preferred.

"We both know you like this one better. Next time just pick and tell them it's what I picked." Anthony kissed his temple, arm around his waist pulling tighter for a moment. Loki just smirked a little, mock aghast, before stealing a kiss of his own, lips pressing against Anthony's before he slipped away and out the door, ignoring where the fairy stood, back politely turned, and escaped into the hallway.

XXXXXX

He didn't see the fairy for days.

XXXXXX

"I would say that I have more than upheld my end of our bargain, little raven." Too thin fingers brushed along the back of his neck, along the spine, brushed barely against his hair. Loki froze where he knelt on the ground, where he'd been digging despite servant's protests that a future king consort should not garden, and was deeply grateful that he was not in water, nowhere near water and hidden depths.

"Perhaps," Loki said, setting down the spade he'd been using, trying to keep from tensing any further as he pushed himself up and away from the fairy.

"Mm, indeed. Now, my request."

"A little thing," Loki reminded him, licking his lips.

"Yes, a little thing for one of your talents."

Loki frowned at the phrasing, knowing it was what he had agreed to and suddenly dreading it all the more.

"Break the ward."

"I… what? You said little!" Loki gaped at the fairy.

"It is little, nay, insignificant for one such as yourself, with such fine command of magic you possess." The fairy circled him and Loki twisted, following, feeling suddenly trapped. "Hardly a matter of hours for you to figure out how it works, and less than that by far to destroy it-I do not ask for cleverness, of subtly. Only that you break the ward and let ice have free reign once more."

"You would ruin me before I've even achieved anything!"

"Oh? You've the love of a king and are king consort in all but ceremony." The fairy stopped, watched him, cat cruel smile playing across too thin features. Loki stuttered to silence, shaking, casting his mind about for some way to refuse. "I would not call that 'nothing.'"

"It doesn't have to be treated as a little task?"

"Excuse?"

"This. I can add more complexity if I want. Take longer. You didn't specify a time limit!" Loki began to pace.

"I suppose," zie replied, looking fairly mystified at what Loki was going after. "Though the longer you go without, the more risk of you dying without fulfilling it. Why not keep it simple?"

"I won't have my name destroyed because of this _thing_ you request of me. I am better, and I will _remain_ better," Loki snarled, stopping and whirling on the fairy. "I will do this… this _thing_, this task, but you don't get to say when or how. They won't know, I won't let them know."

The fairy smiled, chuckled a little.

"Ah yes. Of course, little raven."

Loki stood there after zie left and tried not to cry. He sank back to his knees where he'd been digging, gardening, and looked about himself. Noted pale blue sky with its woolen clouds, vibrant bursts of green, and the buzzing of insects in the summer heat. Thought of cold, wet and cold and drowning, of ice that still burned his lips whenever he saw the fairy.

All he had bought was time.

He didn't go to dinner that evening.

XXXXXX

"Loki? Songbird?" Quiet, familiar (and growing ever more familiar) voice and splash of light across the carpet woke him from where he had burrowed into bed and blankets and pillows. The door clicked shut and soft footsteps approached; Loki kept his face buried in the pillow he was clutching. The bed sank a little as Anthony sat on the edge, one hand reaching over and rubbing Loki's back. Loki sighed and rolled over a little to look at him, rubbed at eyes still raw and red from tears he hadn't been able to suppress when finally alone.

"Are you alright, songbird? Gus told me you hid here after playing in the dirt. That you didn't eat dinner." Worried eyes ran over his features, one hand taking Loki's own and instinctively pressing a kiss by his pulse, the other tracing his face.

"Too much sun," Loki said tiredly, smiling weakly. His voice still sounded raw.

"So you cry when you have too much sun?" A chuckle, reproachful, but also not pressing. Anthony squeezed his hand gently, and leaned down to kiss Loki's forehead. Impulsively, Loki wrapped his arms around him, not letting him get back up. Anthony chuckled again, sound a deep rumble this close, and gently prised Loki's arms away, settled himself down on the bed, kicking his boots off. He moved an arm so Loki could curl up against him and began stroking a hand through Loki's hair.

"Tell me a story," Loki whispered, changing the subject.

"Story? Songbird, you're the one who tells all the stories."

"Sun sick," Loki pointed out.

"Fine. A story. Hm. Did I ever tell you about the time I seduced the second princess of Vanir?" Loki punched him in the side, and he laughed. "Okay. Not that one. Let's see….

"Once upon a time, there was a very selfish, lucky king who ruled the most marvelous kingdom. He was selfish because he could have anything he wanted, and no one would tell him no, but he was lucky because it didn't cause any wars and he loved his people, so his selfishness did not harm many. He liked to seduce young nobles, avoided taking a consort because he didn't want to be used or pampered—he wanted someone to treat him as an equal.

"He didn't know this, though, not until he met this songbird at a masque…."

Loki closed his eyes and listened, felt his chest begin to ache and warm as the words washed over him. If only this moment could last….


	8. Chapter 8

Hello again everyone! What's this, another update, and it's only been a day? Yeah, I had a little time today. :) Something about waking up at 3 in the morning and not being able to fall asleep when I don't have work till 9 will do that, haha.

We are not yet at tissue stage, to those who've asked for that warning.

To Rachel: Glad to keep you happy, and that you like the task!

Warnings: none

* * *

**Chapter 8**  
It was dark. Dark and damp and the weight of thousands of pounds of stone made him feel small and insignificant and like he would suffocate when he was here, standing in the dank dirt by the keystone, the altar, the source and strength of the ward. Here, where only torchlight prevailed because magic light was too unpredictable, and if it was a small risk, well, they would rather no risk be taken with the ward. Even now, summer heat making everyone hot and irritable, it was cool, fairy ice rimming the keystone but not going any farther.

He was only here to find out what it sounded like, find out how it felt, so he could stay away and work from somewhere less obvious.

Loki breathed in (and he did not panic slightly, did not tremble and shake and his breath was not shallow because he was terrified of being crushed by the earth and suffocating and dying while his bones snapped like a bird's), centered, and let all become stillness (no air, no breeze brushing against him, no familiar tune, oh by the nine what was he thinking).

_Listened._

Ice. Ice and discord, disharmony, unharmony, shrieking, off key high-pitched c-sharp shattering glass, shattering bone, splintering, unmaking and deep pools of water, drowning, water filling his lungs and suffocating and ice freezing inside so he could not breathe, darkness, blackness, sightless blindness and down down down, left wrist burning, frostfired snowflake brand….

XXXXXX

Cold. It was cold, had always been cold. The sound of cold, all sharps just barely out of key, the occasional flat bass note going on endlessly, maddeningly, in- and unescapable. Dizzying and fast and spinning. Drowning. Always drowning, never enough air, any air. It was too cold for air. It wrapped around and burned, fire, fire that did not make the cold fade, only made it worse and worse and _worse_.

A major C, wending through the burning cold. Glimmering, delicate, twining and wrapping and then he realized, _Ah there, how clever_. Still drowning, but he reached, _listened_. A melody, constant, leaping and repeating and every time the slightest of variation, slow and warm and a blazing fire, and the cold shrieked its out of key sharps and too long flats and railed and the major C melody just wended and lapped and repeated and the cold could do nothing. Delicate, fragile, the tiniest warmth and yet too great; impossible to miss, now. He reached, twined his fingers in the sound, and left wrist exploded, stabbed and sharp and hot, so much heat and he gasped, suddenly able to breathe….

XXXXXX

He didn't know how long he had been on the ground in the near dark of torchlight under the shadow cast by the keystone altar. There was no sunlight here to tell him the time of day as he pushed himself off the ground, dank dirt cool against his skin, ruining the clothes he was wearing. He rubbed at his face and it smeared, stuck in his hair, but he didn't notice. His left hand ached, wrist felt awful, and he pushed his sleeve up and found burned blackened flesh. Murmured the song to heal it and watched as it did, but the ache went deeper than flesh, into bone, a reminder. A warning.

He sat there, staring at the keystone, ran his fingertips over it. It would be a little thing, to rip it apart in an instant, but then everyone would know, would find him here and _ruin_. He couldn't unhear the melody, and wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. It was dizzyingly complex and simple and he wished that he could make such living, breathing magic, something so sustained and subtle and strong.

Eventually, he remembered his self, but he stayed there, sitting by the keystone, learning. _Listening_.

He stood, swayed and looked around the room. It seemed so long ago he had panicked about the depth and the darkness; now all he could hear was the fire of the ward threaded into the mortar, supporting it and breathing through it, giving it life. He stumbled and leaned against the door frame, stared at the tile on the hallway leading to the stairs as if he had never seen such before.

He moved slowly, climbed the stairs as a child would, both feet planted firmly on one step before taking the next, a hand on the wall. The sudden influx of magically driven light on the floor above made him squint, shield his eyes some. He didn't recognize the figure in one of the mirrors on the wall—this tall and gaunt thing, birdlike, dirt like a poor man's mask smearing his face, covering his clothes, hair sticking every which way and dirt caught in it, too. He stared, startled by the intense green eyes that stared back at him, that seemed so familiar, a melody that he couldn't quite recall, a name. He stepped away from the staircase, toward the figure in the mirror, trying. There was a word for this being, there, on the tip of his tongue, making his mind twist upon itself like a serpent devouring its own tail….

"Lord Loki!"

_Loki_. Yes. He smiled slowly, and the figure smiled back and he sighed, content. _Loki_.

He examined the small, excited being before him, fascinated by the fact that others _also_ existed outside of himself, suddenly aware that there was more than just music and mirrors and him, and that made him smile as well, delighted, and he reached out to touch this other being, clap him on the shoulders. The other seemed agitated and Loki (_his_ name, _his_ word) wanted to show him the sound of fire that protected them all and tell him not to worry, but he still hadn't quite gotten the grasp on words again. He followed as the being led, one hand firmly placed on his arm to support him, and he would like to say thank you as they go through corridors, but he couldn't quite do more than hum pleasantly, which he did, though he stopped when the being—_man_, his mind eventually supplied—looked at him and grew ever more agitated.

They passed others, his world suddenly growing larger with each moment; this, too, enchanted him and he laughed, full and rich and symphonic, began humming again though he knew that it was worrisome to this man, and let himself be led to a room that vaguely tripped memory. He stumbled on the carpet as they went in—"Majesty, I've found him"—and he staggered himself upright again and looked around this dizzying new room with its books and tapestries and a table covered in maps and charts and walls with their openings—_windows—_overlooking gardens and starlight.

"Loki," a voice whispered, hands touching his arms, gripping them, and he blinked, looking at the man, king, before him. He met dark brown eyes filled with worry and his mouth parted and he frowned, brows crinkling as he tried to remember the word that meant these eyes and this voice, this low deep voice that purred around him like a cat rubbing against his legs. A hand brushed against his face and he leaned against the familiar roughness, heart blazing and feeling as if it had suddenly found home, as familiar lips brushed against the inside of his wrist, by his pulse—a leitmotif that he still knew, even wordless as he was.

"Loki," voice full of worry and anguish and Loki opened his eyes again and smiled, leaned forward and kissed familiar lips, embraced the king before him, explored with his tongue and his hands before the king took his hands, gripped his wrists, gently pressed him away. It hurt, this separation, this being pushed away, and he frowned and whined in the back of his throat and searched for the word, the name, the thing—

"_Anthony_," he pleaded, and then stumbled, fell, everything rushing back, words, thousands and hundreds of words, invading army found the opening it needed to steal in and trample everything beneath its feet. Memories charged in, ripped him apart with their cruelty, their silvery blades reopened forgotten wounds. His own mind betrayed him and crushed the melody he had heard, destroyed the fire that had left him so dazed and protected and he screamed in anguish.

Arms encircled him, held him tight, crushed him, deep voice crooned and soothed and whispered in his ear, and it was the echo of melody that shushed him, made Loki lean his head against the crook of Anthony's neck and weep for what he must do.

XXXXXX

"Ah, you're here," low and sun warmed, just at the edge of darkness, soft summer buzzing of the insects in the evening heat.

"What happened?" Also soft, summer thunder rolling in the distance.

"Keystone… magic and listened…" the insects hummed, and Loki strained, trying to hear them, because he had not known summer insects could speak with thunder storms.

"He… curious. He is always so curious. I am… logize." The thunder was moving away. The gray surrounding him moved, shifted, lost weight, and he flailed about, reached, grabbed.

"Nnnmmph," he mumbled, tightening his hand around the fingers he caught, opening his eyes and vision swirling, like he had worked a spell for an entire day, tongue swollen wet cotton. Anthony. Thor. Insects and thunderstorms. Ah. He struggled to escape the cloud on his limbs, but other than the one arm he felt trapped and he panicked. Hands gently pressed him down as he tried to struggle up, voice shushing him, soothing him, and then he gasped, shaking on the pillows, blanket pulled off him and settled around his waist—blanket and pillows, not cloud. He wasn't trapped. He panted, winded, and closed his eyes. He thought he might be ill.

"Hey, no dying. It's okay, you're okay." Anthony.

"Brother, you will be well soon. The doctors say you are just mage tired." Thor.

Anthony's hand carded through his hair; the bed sank as Thor sat on the other side, taking one of his hands.

"You're really lucky, songbird. You could have lost your mind. Older mages have."

"I'm better than them," Loki slurred, restraint gone. Anthony only chuckled; Thor's worried silence filled the room.

"Of course you are. Rest." A kiss pressed to his wrist, by his pulse.

XXXXXX

He dreamed of ice and drowning and darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

And we're back. This chapter is all about getting stuff done, yo. I don't think anyone needs tissues?

I've got something heart-warming ready and lined up for after we finish Ashes (told you I would Na'viWolf !). There's one chapter after this. Do you guys want me to post the heart-warming one shot at the same time as I post the last chapter and link it? Let me know!

**Warnings:** non-graphic slash, some self-hatred

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**Chapter 9**  
He dreamed of ice and drowning and darkness.

He woke, sweating, each day, and each day locked himself in the lab he had been gifted, worked until his bones ached and he thought he might faint. Took the major C warmth and began to nudge it, to flatten it; no drastic change in key, nothing to make everything break at once. Worked until nearly delirious and sound had no meaning, and then he'd go to the library and read and search until words swam and swirled together. Would smile and pretend all was well in the few brief moments with the king, then returned to his room, paced and struggled to read by candlelight until sleep came and dragged him down, drowning him in lightless pools.

He dreamed of ice and drowning and darkness.

Again, he would wake, bursting out of the blankets as from the surface of a lake; shivering despite the increasing swell of summer heat; he would wash and dress and start over. Listened and worked with melody until sound lost meaning; read until words became unreadable symbols. Searched for a way to get out of this, or to fix it. And then the dark solace of his room, pacing and caged, until his body gave up and gave in and he fell into bed.

XXXXXX

The wedding was grand and loud and hot, all forest greens and blazing reds, trimmed in gold.

The night was grander, soft kisses and heat and _more._

There was no ice that night.

XXXXXX

Loki sat on the bed, legs folded, head resting in his hands. He could barely stay awake, dark circles underneath his eyes. _It is working_, he thought, because people were acting differently, because everywhere he heard the increasing screech of too high sharp C, because the ice was spreading down the keystone and into the dank dirt floor, because the warmth of major C was faltering.

He sat on the bed and tried to stay awake because Anthony kept the dreams away. He was ashamed of how selfish he was, that he did not want to listen and dream the consequences of his actions. That he was using Anthony even as Anthony looked increasingly more haunted and worried, sensing the change as they all had, working endlessly with his mages to figure out what had happened, what had changed.

No one blamed Loki, no one suspected Loki, no one thought Loki involved.

The door opened and Loki looked up at Anthony. The king paused at the edge of the bed, face creased and dark shadows under his eyes. There was more steel gray in his dark brown hair than there had been a few weeks ago. The tenor of his haunting was different tonight, Loki realized, grim and dirge-like, and he was standing there, drinking in the sight of Loki, eyes pained, loving. Loki reached for him and Anthony pulled him close, not yet sitting on the bed, just stood there with Loki held tight in his arms.

Loathing, cold and vicious, clenched Loki's heart. He had done this, he had caused this pain. This was not the grander he wanted.

"What is it?" he whispered.

Anthony let him go, sat down on the bed. The king studied his hands, then took one of Loki's. He ran his fingers over Loki's hand as he spoke.

"The ward."

Loki said nothing. They both knew this, had discussed it, and every time Loki ended up locking himself away and weeping and _hating_.

Anthony pulled Loki's hand up, placed a soft kiss on the inside of Loki's wrist, just by the pulse. Loki shivered at the finality of the motion.

"It's breaking, songbird. Will break. We can't find the cause." Calloused fingers ran over Loki's hand, massaged his palm, traced over veins and life lines. Anthony did not look at Loki.

"I… what?" Loki whispered, because it meant that he did not have as much time, that he would not escape this after all.

"Please, don't speak. I need to… I have to tell you this, now, and it…" Anthony paused, pulled Loki close to him without looking, pressed his face against the crown of Loki's head. Loki laid unmoving, head in the crook of the king's neck, struggling to breathe evenly. Anthony laced his fingers in Loki's hand, gripped it tightly.

"I love you, songbird. You are what is best of me, the greatest gift this kingdom has given me. The ward is breaking, and I have to… I have to fix it. No one has needed to in a very long time, but a king, a queen, they have to be ready. They have to know that it might happen in their rule." Anthony paused, pulled in a ragged breath; a tear fell down his face and landed on Loki's head. "Foolish, aren't I? Waiting so long to find you. I'm so sorry, songbird."

"What… what do you mean, you have to fix it?" Loki's voice wavered. "What do you have to do?"

Anthony did not answer but a silent sob shook his shoulders. Loki pulled away, grabbed Anthony's chin and forced the king to look at him. Loki searched his face, desperate for some sign, wishing he could reach in and pull it out without a word more.

"I… The ward. Loki, do you know how the ward was made?"

"What? Yes, we all do. The first king's daughter gave herself willingly on an altar, willingly made herself into song and…." Loki trailed off, stared at Anthony, remembered keystone _altar_ and let his had drop from Anthony's face. "No. No no no no." He tugged his hand from Anthony's, stood and paced even though exhaustion was pushing at him, making him dizzy. Anthony let him, watched him, then gently grabbed his wrist, so Loki stood before him, between his legs.

"Please, songbird. I am sorry."

Loki stared down at Anthony's face and he _hated_. He shook as Anthony's hands ran over his arms, hot tears spilled over his face as he closed his eyes.

"No," Loki whispered.

Silence.

"How long?" he whispered, eyes burning as he reopened them, tears too salty to see through.

"I… I should, tonight. Or in the morning. I would rather the time with you; selfish, isn't it?" Anthony smiled, crooked and pained. "Two days, songbird."

Loki licked his lips, thinking and hating and trembling at the spark of a sleep-deprived plan.

"Don't mourn me yet. Please." Anthony was looking at him, searching his face. "Be here. Now. For a while. We can think about it in the morning. Please?"

"I… for now." Loki leaned down, kissed Anthony. Let his hands reach for his lover's chest, tug at the shirt buttons. Calloused hands slid beneath Loki's night shirt, fingertips pressing in as if they could map every inch of him. They didn't speak again; they explored, mapped, traced; kissed tears away, arched into touch; they lost sense of 'you,' 'me,' 'self.'

In the quiet, they made their own elegy.


	10. Chapter 10

And that's a wrap. As promised, have a link to a fic that ends happily that I'm posting at the same time: s/8397646/1/June_21st

Warnings: self-harm

This is the chapter you need tissues for guys.

* * *

**Chapter 10**  
He woke first, Anthony's breath against the nape of his neck. The sun had not managed to breach the horizon and everything was icy blues and greys. The high whine of ice already picked up and rubbed against his nerves as he carefully slipped out from Anthony's arms.

He stood before a mirror, studied himself. In the early twilight, he resembled a statue, frozen Ophelia preserved for eternity. _You are what is best of me_. He remembered the dazed joy when nothing existed but the ward and him. _Selfish, isn't it?_He clenched a fist, dug nails in until he drew blood. His heart twisted and writhed in his chest, breaking apart with hate for himself, for his pettiness, for his selfishness.

This was more than just his name, now.

He pressed a hand against the mirror to steady himself, to keep from punching it and waking Anthony. Dear Anthony, Anthony who was more and better and who believed Loki ignorant of the cause of all this. Innocent. Blood streaked across the surface as he turned away, dressed slowly, precisely. Rough-spun shirt, pants; nothing else. He'd just need to remove them again.

He pulled out the silvery sharp knife from the pile of things he'd brought from the estate, examined the whisper sharp Jotun steel of his mother's ritual blade, the serpent devouring its own tail at the hilt.

He paused at the door, stared at where Anthony still slept, unknowing.

_You are what is best of me_.

The halls are quiet this early. Empty. No one sees Loki pad barefoot through the halls, go down and down into the belly of the castle.

The hallway is lined with ice now and the cold steals his breath as he walks inside the room with the key stone. Delicate icy things, faux trees and frozen animals, are beginning to form. He pauses, breath clouding before him, then goes forward. Makes sure he does not slip in the muddy ice that breaks and cuts into bare feet.

He strips, stands shivering by the keystone altar. His fingers grow numb and he tightens his grip on his knife so that it does not slip. He hesitates, feeling for how to do this because he doesn't know and he only has one life to give. He crawls, slipping, onto the keystone altar, muscles clenching beneath his flesh as he sits and shivers and reaches for the melody he can hear, flickering and fading beneath the cold.

He holds it tight to him, marvels that he didn't realize sooner that it sings the way Anthony's presence does, that the warmth is the warmth that keeps the nightmares away.

_You are what is best of me_.

He clutches the words tightly to himself as he listens to the melody, wrapping both words and song about himself though they are nowhere near strong enough to keep away the sharps and flats and off-key noise that digs into his mind and tries to bring him to a shuddering halt.

The whisper sharp blade feels dull with how cold he is, each delicate rune carved into his flesh burning like fire. His blood runs in rivulets down his skin, drips and pools around him on the keystone altar. Ice melts away from it, and finally, finally, he lays the knife down as he sets the last cut into his flesh. He dips his fingers in the blood and he begins to paint himself, his face, his chest, and legs. His eyes are half-closed, he is near dreaming, _listening_, feeling his way forward, allowing the melody to tell him what to do.

His hands are shaking, muscles twitching, spasming, but he gathers the cold to him, lets it fill him up and near to breaking, oceans and dark pools, glaciers and frostburn.

All is darkness and sound and he is drowning.

Dark. Screeching. Ice crushing and groaning beneath its own weight. He cannot breathe but he does not flail. His lungs burn and he draws in air and water fills him, makes him cough and choke. Noise, noise, dis-din-cophony. None of it makes sense and his heart pounds a staccato terror in his ears, the tempo of his death.

_You are what is best of me_.

He flails then, fights, swims towards the words and summer and heat, heart full to bursting with love of this thing he has heard, for this being. _Anthony_. Warm brown eyes and the swell of a song in C major, the best of his life and he will make himself greater and better and _more_for this man.

Ice cuts against his skin and he opens his eyes, laughing, aching, hurting. He can see the way the ice and cold shriek through the air, and he takes more of it, pulls it close, pulls it in, draws the sound into himself though it hurts; he reaches beneath him, pulls the sound of the keystone's melody close, its earthy warm summer sound. He grabs these sounds and draws them close, _listens_. _Listens_until his head feels as if it will split open and the melody rises up in him, swells.

_More_.

He gathers more, lets the melody wait, there, in his throat. Tears glaze his eyes, and he struggles to stay afloat, to keep from losing his self in this energy and sound and song. Finds the knife one-handedly and cuts deep into his wrist, using the pain as an anchor even knowing it will not be enough.

_You are what is best of me_.

He sings.

The song flows from him, in him, and tears him apart. It hurts but he does not stop. He will fix this. He will be better, more. _Anthony_. He does not know the words, does not know if there are words, but it pours out of him and the ice melts and he grows hot and hotter, fire filling him, a melody that repeats ever and ever and never the same way twice.

_You are what is best of me_.

It is warmth and light everywhere. Summer afternoon dozes in the gardens, insects buzzing overhead. They make a pattern with their buzzing, a song that repeats endlessly and never the same. He recognizes it, realizes that he has stopped singing, but it continues without his voice and his energy to give it shape and form.

He opens his eyes to darkness, pained brown eyes and being clutched against a familiar chest. He aches to see the pain there, tears spilling down that face. He tries to move, to press a hand to that face, to smile, but it is all so tiring.

"_Loki_," raw and anguished.

He focuses, gathers together what he has left, presses his hand to that familiar face. A familiarly calloused hand grabs his, presses a kiss to his quietening pulse uncaring of blood that smears across familiar lips.

He smiles and closes his eyes. He is so _tired_.

Summer buzzing insects and heat beckon.


End file.
